by J. L. Wilson
My Friday was full of Things-To-Do. I had to go to the bank and see them about the prize money, I had to get insurance for the new car, go to work, meet with the library volunteers at our monthly meeting, and sort through the entry forms for tomorrow's dog show. I also needed to get the storm damage assessed, have Sean fix the window, and buy a better lock for that Tube door. I grabbed a pad of paper and started jotting notes.
First I had to convince Leo I didn't need a full-time bodyguard. I think he was reassured by our quiet night so it didn't take much arguing. As he left for the salon, I promised to meet him at the house after work to touch base. I waved him away then fed the Beast before going to the garage, using the owner's manual for the new car to verify the essential components--CD controls, gears, seats, and mirror adjustments. I settled myself in the leather driver's seat and inspected the radio, but couldn't immediately decipher the controls. I remembered the instructions from a previous rental car, though, and was able to load the six-disc CD with my favorites before I backed down the drive.
The car was a miracle of modern machinery. It purred, a sound much softer and sweeter than SoSo's usual rumble or my Escort's arthritic grumble. The acceleration responded with a touch of my foot. I found myself speeding along 4th Street before I let up on the gas and let the car resume a more sedate pace.
It was so much fun to drive I went for a spin on the highway that circled the town, enjoying the melodious sounds of the Eagles on a six-speaker stereo. My Escort's CD player was erratic at best, so it was marvelous to hear the music in all its clarity. I pulled into the parking lot behind Charlie Becker's office as After The Thrill Is Gone reached the verse about 'not quite lovers and not quite friends.'
I sat in the parking lot for a second, struck by how appropriate that line was to my circumstances. Did I want Drew or any man in my life? I dated occasionally after my divorce but I didn't have any long-term relationships. Did I want one now?
As soon as I thought that, I remembered Drew's loving look when he held me yesterday. His green eyes were clear and guileless, showing me exactly what was in his heart. He was as confused as me, but he was willing to reach out, willing to take a chance. Would I be as willing?
What instigated this interest in me? Was he remembering our times together in high school or was he interested in me now, in me the Grownup? He dated, too, when he came back to town. In fact, he and Patti Sanders were together for almost a year and people speculated they might get married, but they broke up and Patti went on to marry Bobby Gillfoyle who ran the gas station.
I suddenly remembered Wade and his place in my life. I felt rudderless after college, drifting from job to job until I finally came back home. I think I was seeking stability and Drew wasn't there anymore, but Wade was. I couldn't believe I was sitting there in my new car and forgetting all about Wade. There he lay, a dead body in a morgue somewhere and I was worried if Drew was interested in the me I am, versus the me I was. I shook my head at my own callousness.
I saw Charlie Becker approach the car in my side mirror. Thank God. I shoved my philosophical thoughts to one side and got out to join him as he waddled toward his office building.
"I heard you won that new car, Dorothy," he said in his odd nasal voice. Charlie was about as tall as me and nearly as round as he was tall. "Are you here to talk about insurance?"
I nodded. "I suppose I'll need to sell the Escort." I entered the one-story building through the glass door he held for me.
"Either that or donate it to the high school vocational-tech program. They use old cars like that for training." He smiled wryly. "You probably wouldn't get much if you tried to sell it."
I hadn't considered donating it. Charlie ushered me into his office where Marilyn Voight, his secretary, got me coffee. He and I dealt with the details on the insurance then as I was preparing to leave, he said, "I heard about Wade. I ran into Mina and she said she's planning a memorial service for him."
This was news to me. "Really?"
He nodded, his round little head bobbing up and down. "Surprised me, really. They didn't part the best of friends."
I sat back down, the lure of gossip keeping me pinned. "I didn't know the details about that. Wade and I were divorced by that time."
Charlie leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his ample tummy covered by his powder blue shirt. "I heard about it from Mina when she changed her insurance policy. She was still plenty mad about it all. That was, oh, let's see, ten years ago I guess?"
"About that," I agreed.
"I don't know the details, but she said he wasn't cut out to be a businessman. He didn't have the spine for it, she said."
I silently agreed with Mina. Wade was too laid-back and happy-go-lucky to make hard business decisions. Of course, I thought Mina was the one who made those kinds of decisions in their partnership anyway, so it wouldn't matter if Wade was a marshmallow. "I thought Mina had enough spine for two people."
Charlie grinned, his natty goatee and mustache framing his wide mouth. "Yeah, she always seemed that way to me, too. Of course, I haven't known her as long as you have since I only moved here a few years back."
"One of the benefits of living in a small town is that you get to know people well." I had a lot of memories of Mina from high school. She was always a social leader and even back then she was dictatorial. "You mentioned an insurance policy. Did Mina change hers so Wade wasn't the beneficiary?"
Charlie hesitated and I wondered if that was secret information. He fiddled with his pencil. "Actually, no. She increased her coverage on him."
I double-blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose that was prudent since, well, Wade was always a bit careless." That sounded lame, even to me, so I changed the subject. "Did Mina say anything about the memorial service?"
"She mentioned Sunday. I think it will depend on the police, though. After all..." Charlie hesitated. "They have the body." He stood and I followed suit.
"I suppose I should talk to her about it since Wade and I were married." I took the envelope holding my copies of the insurance forms and walked with Charlie to the door. "I wonder where Wade's been all these years."
Charlie ushered me into the waiting room, empty except for Marlene. "That's hard to tell. Good talking with you, Dorothy. Let me know if there's anything else you need." He stepped back into his office and closed the door.
Marlene nodded to me as I left the building. I put the papers in the glove compartment and drove to downtown, my thoughts turning to Mina and a Memorial Service. Sunday would probably work. The dog show was moved to Saturday night and all we had on Sunday was a breakfast at the American Legion for the departing AMRAK riders. I was on duty for pancake flipping from eight until ten then free for the rest of the holiday.
My next stop was the First Trust Bank, one of our two local banks. As I entered, I saw Patti ("Patches") Gillfoyle, Drew's old flame and now assistant bank manager, in one of the glass-walled offices off the lobby. Patti always wore patchwork-appearing clothing, hence the nickname. As soon as she saw me, she waved. "Come on in," she called out. I went into the office as Patches stood to greet me.
"I thought you might stop by." She pulled a manila folder from a stack on her desk as I took the guest chair. "I've got your check here. Joe Connor called and told us who won yesterday. Congratulations." She slid a form across the desk. "Sign at the X and you'll be in business."
I did as she said, skimming over the deposit form. "Seventeen thousand? I thought it was thirty."
"Taxes," she said cheerfully. Patches was a big, rangy woman with short brown hair and a booming, infectious laugh. "You'll need to save for taxes on your car since you have to declare that as a gift. That still leaves a nice chunk of change, though. Maybe take a trip?"
I examined the deposit slip. "I hadn't really thought about it. I've been so busy because of Wade and all." I saw the sympathy in Patches' hazel eyes. "It's been hectic during the last day."
"I can imagine." Patches leaned forward. "
That Federal agent was in here earlier. He and Drew are coming in at ten to open Wade's safety deposit box. He had a subpoena." Her voice took on a confidential tone. "He asked a lot of questions. Like when you signed for the box and when Wade got it and things like that."
"Me? Sign?" I frowned. "I never signed."
"We've got your signature on file as a co-owner. It's dated almost twenty years ago."
"Oh." Now it made sense. When Wade and I married, we got a joint box. I thought Wade canceled it when he left town, but apparently not. "I forgot all about it." I tucked the deposit slip into my purse and stood.
Patches tidied the papers back into the folder and walked me to the door. "I'm sure Drew will contact you if it's anything to do with you. After all, well, I know how he feels about you." She smiled knowingly.
I longed to snap, You know more than me, but I didn't. "We're old friends," I murmured.
"I think you're more than that in Drew's estimation. But I won't talk out of turn. Enjoy your winnings, Dorothy." She turned to an elderly bank patron who waited patiently for attention, my business already relegated to old news.
I left the bank, a knot of anxiety twisting my stomach. Drew and Tinsley would be inspecting the box, hmm? I wondered what was in there. When Wade and I rented it, all we kept in the box was my mother's pearl earrings, a lot of legal papers, and an envelope of photographs. I took my items when we got divorced and never gave it another thought. But what would they find in it today at ten o'clock?
I got back into my new car, reminded suddenly of my winnings. A trip? I thought of France, Italy, Spain...exotic locations previously beyond my bankbook. Now they were well within reach. Maybe a trip next winter. I wondered if Baby Dot would like a trip abroad. Yep, an iPad and a computer would be in her future and maybe a donation to help Mel with her expenses. I could also donate to the humane society and maybe do some remodeling.
By the time I pulled in to my reserved slot at the library, I had mentally spent most of the money. I assessed the building, which I hadn't seen close-up since the tornado. Our fund drive three years earlier resulted in a new roof which was, thankfully, still in one piece after yesterday's storm. The new glass-enclosed handicapped accessible entry on the side was unharmed but as I neared the building I saw that hail had lashed against the brick, leaving small dents and fissures. Now the mortar appeared pockmarked. It probably needed tuck-pointing and the concrete steps were showing the cracks of age, especially after last winter's brutal cold spell. I made a mental note to solicit bids for repair or replacement.
I went inside where the warmth of the summer day was replaced by the coolness of a building shaded by tall maples. Broomfield's library was an original Carnegie Library, a four-square structure with a main floor and a newly redecorated basement that housed the children's collection. I was proud of our library and the improvements we managed to make on a very limited budget. It still had a lot of the old touches, including the massive oak check-out desk, the reading chairs in the back room, and the magazine racks that held copies of Time, Newsweek and People. But we also had a bank of computers, a digital checkout system, and WiFi throughout the building.
Paul Filene had morning duty. He was a retired policeman and worked part-time for us, opening in the mornings and coming back to close at night. That left the middle of the day for Betsy Roberts, whose kids were in junior high and Polly Kroger, our high school intern. I checked with Paul as I passed him on my way to the staff kitchen, a closet-sized room that held a card table, sink, and a miniscule refrigerator where I stowed my lunch sack. I filled my mug with coffee and rejoined him at the desk.
"All quiet," he confirmed. "Last day of school today so we'll probably be busy this afternoon with a bunch of check-ins as kids clean out their lockers."
I nodded my understanding. Like all things, the library had a cyclic nature. The town kids would avoid us like the plague for the first month of summer vacation but as boredom set in they'd return in July and August. We never tried to inaugurate summer programs until after the Fourth of July.
"Let me know if you need any help." I headed for my office behind the desk.
"Will do." He turned to help Mrs. Polinski with the books overflowing her chubby arms.
I tossed my handbag into the bottom drawer of my battered old Steelcase desk and nudged my door. It didn't shut, of course. It was too old and the ancient wooden floor was too warped for that. I set down my coffee and plopped into my wooden office chair which tipped precariously with my action. I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. Good Lord, too much had happened in too short a time. I couldn't process it all.
Drew kissed me. We found a secret tunnel. Wade was murdered. Mina was being sued. I won a car. Drew kissed me. An FBI agent was snooping around. I won a bucket load of money. Mel was worried about a health inspection. Baby Dot had a boyfriend. Drew kissed me.
I straightened and turned on my computer. I had work to do. I needed to get the budget ready, I had to decide on book purchases, I had to prepare for the volunteer committee meeting, I needed to get estimates for concrete repair. Nothing I did or didn't do would change the past or the future. I had to focus on now.
Pleased with that steadying line of reasoning, I dug into my workload. At noon I took over for Paul until Polly came in then I returned to my office, nibbling my lunch as I worked. At two o'clock I decided to take a break and turned to my computer to start researching brick building repair and restoration. As I did, I remembered Drew's comment about Jack Tinsley and his past association with the Wickeds. On impulse, I opened a web browser. Drew mentioned Baltimore years earlier, so I started there, using news databases that I could access with my library credentials.
I didn't find anything using Tinsley's name as a search keyword, but twenty minutes of searching 'motorcycle,' 'Maryland,' 'fatal shooting,' and 'college' brought up Towson University and a news story from the Baltimore Sun newspaper. It was only three paragraphs in length. Mark Nimmer, aged 20, died from gunshot wounds received during a police shootout with a motorcycle gang. An unidentified FBI agent was involved and the article hinted that the involvement was not with the government's blessing.
The victim's mother, Amy Nimmer, claimed the boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time but the police statement (cannot comment on an on-going investigation) made me wonder. If a victim was truly innocent, the police usually added something like an unfortunate run-in or something like that.
I did a further search on the name Nimmer and found mention of a funeral plus a brief paragraph indicating the investigation was closed and no charges would be filed. What happened? I stretched as I stared at my computer screen. Did Amy Nimmer blame Tinsley for her son's death? Was the kid involved in drugs or a gang?
More questions I couldn't answer. I needed to stick with things I could accomplish, like soliciting bids for building repair. Of course, that wasn't as interesting as poking my nose where it didn't belong. I made a few attempts to find more information but soon gave up and joined Polly at the front desk.
"All quiet," she said as she processed book returns at the computer. Polly was a stick thin senior in high school and was always moving, probably to keep warm because she always complained about being cold. She had the prettiest gold-blonde hair worn in a braid wrapped around the crown of her head, giving her head a halo-like appearance. "Mina Wickman called a few minutes ago. She wanted to know if you were here. She's going to stop by."
"That's a first. I don't think she's set foot in this library since high school." I tapped the desk thoughtfully. "Maybe I can talk her into donating money to the Exterior Restoration Fund."
"What Exterior Restoration Fund?"
"The one I established this morning. We need to get the mortar on the bricks fixed, it's starting to crumble." I didn't have time to share my plans because, speak of the devil, Mina appeared at the glass front doors, shading her eyes as she stared inside. "Let's see if her name on the project will get us some cash. The Wickman Restoration Fun
d. How does that sound?" I watched Mina as she opened the doors and bounded up the three short steps to the main floor level.
"Sounds good to me," Polly said. "Good luck."
"Dorothy, did you talk to the police today about Wade?" Mina demanded. She wore a green plaid lightweight skirt that swirled around her long legs and a matching lightweight dark green blouse that exactly matched her eyes. A Gucci handbag, dark green leather, was slung over one shoulder and her long hair was pulled into a chignon, highlighting her elegant neck.
I felt frumpy in my J C Penney sweater and Sears pants and I suppose my unspoken inferiority made my voice sharp. "If I did, it's nothing to do with you." I strode past Polly to my office.
"So much for the Restoration Fund," she muttered as I passed.
I glanced back at Mina, who eyed me suspiciously. "Come in my office, Mina. We can talk about Wade if you'd like." I kept a careful rein on the impatience I felt.
Polly smiled sweetly at Mina as she passed, wiggling her eyebrows at me. Restoration Fund, she mouthed behind Mina's back.
I gestured Mina into the office and pushed the door. As soon as I turned my back, the door started to creak open but was stopped by the Wicked Witch Ruby Slipper doorstop I kept in place for that purpose. I retrieved a stack of catalogs from a chair and gestured. "Have a seat."
Mina sat with a swish of fabric and a faint aroma of Lancôme. "What's got you in a tizzy?"
I sat, almost overtipping in my wobbly chair. I straightened by grabbing the desk with both hands and dragging myself upright. "I'm not in a tizzy. I'm busy."
Her gaze swept over the stacks of paper on my desk, the catalogs with dog-eared pages, and my computer with the Baltimore Sun showing on the screen. "I can see that. I won't take too much of your time. I wanted to know what the police found in the safety deposit box."
I stared at her, praying I could maintain an innocent façade. "What safety deposit box?"